Tag: poetry

Stay  – a November Poem-A-Day Challenge – Diminishing Somonka

Poetry

 

Love, what would you say,
if I knelt here — begged you please,
don’t go yet, but stay?
Longer, let me your skin lease!
Set my aching arms at ease!
~
Hear now my reply —
my pale and lovely flower,
while I kiss your thigh.
I’ll find my way yet lower,
and linger for an hour.
—–

 

PROMPT: 2016 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

For today’s prompt, we’ve actually got a two-for-Tuesday prompt. So pick one, combine both prompts into one poem, or write two (or more) different poems. Here are the prompts:

  • Write a stay poem. A poem about staying put, not leaving, and/or dealing with someone (or something) that refuses to leave. Or…
  • Write a go poem. Fans of The Clash probably know which song prompted today’s prompt. But yeah, this is basically the opposite of staying–you know, going.

—–

POETIC FORM:

Diminishing Somonka
 
A form I created by marrying the Somonka and Diminishing Verse poetic forms:
  • two Tankas (5-7-5-7-7), written as two love letters to each other.
  • remove the first letter of the end word in each successive 7 syllable line.
 
Variation: Poets can remove sounds if they wish like “flies” to “lies” to “eyes.”

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AUDIO FILE:

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Out of Ink

Poetry

image

Some days
even though words
are all around me
–on page after page
in book after book
on shelf after shelf
–on the back of every
shampoo bottle
in the shower
–in every envelope
of every piece
of junk mail
in the mailbox
–on every label
of every box and can
in the kitchen.
I still cannot seem
to find the right ones
for a poem.
It’s a good thing
silence and I have
become friends
when I sit still
and listen, she
reminds me — poems
take coaxing — words
can be shy — maybe
tomorrow

—–

AUDIO FILE:

How Poetry Goes (What She Said) – a #NaPoMo #APRPAD Rondeau

Poetry

block2
Some days it’s how poetry goes.
“Hey, don’t sweat it!” That’s what she said.
Write six lines, then eat jam with bread.
Second guess the rhyme scheme you chose.

Count your syllables, like they’re crows —
put on your sweater. Make your bed.
Some days it’s how poetry goes.
“Go for a walk.” That’s what she said.

“Embrace your whims, and juxtapose.”
Swap out ink for pencil, instead.
Sip your coffee, then scratch your head.
It’s a dance, every poet knows —
Most days, it’s how poetry goes.

—–

#NaPoMo INFO:
Poetic Asides #April Poem-A-Day Challenge – PAD #2:

For today’s prompt, write a what he said and/or what she said poem. Maybe he or she said a rumor; maybe he or she gave directions; or maybe he or she said something that made absolutely no sense at all. I don’t know what they said; rather, each poet is tasked with revealing that knowledge. http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2016-april-pad-challenge-day-2

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POETIC FORM INFO:
The poetic form focus for my PAD 2016 Challenge is the Rondeau — 13 lines in 3 stanzas; rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line. For info: http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/personal-updates/help-me-rondeau-help-help-me-rondeau-another-french-poetic-form

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AUDIO FILE:

Dry Spell (a re-post)

Poetry

I’ve spent the past several days in the hospital with a partner. She is doing well, and we’re narrowing in on what the non-life threatening problem actually is. However, as a result, I will be re-posting a couple of previous poems this week. I hope you enjoy!

From February, 2015

———-

image

I wrap myself in rain soaked sheets,
my skin well drenched in poet’s ink.
Words drip from fingers, lashes, hair,
although the squall line’s past, I think.

A rolling thunder echoes now.
Tempted I am, to seed the sky —
(I feel it in my skin, my bones.)
to dance a prayer against the dry.

To gauge the weather, test the air —
while rushing winds in whispered voice
make promises of darker clouds —
for instruments — I have one choice:

I’ll take my pen, write rhymes in form.
hold back the sun, bring on the storm.

 

—–

advice from e.e. cummings

Poetry

climbing

*on a day when i face my climb alone,
a beloved poem by e.e cummings
can say everything i need to hear.
this is my response:

advice from e.e. cummings

run to the woods
for the sun is warm
he said, “trees are their roots
and wind is wind’

so, when you feel alone
climbing your mountain
you can “trust your heart
if the seas catch fire”

you’re surrounded by strength
you are loved by many,
so “live by love
though the stars walk backward”

the words of a fool
will lose their power in truth
while you ‘dance your death
away at this wedding’

———-

AUDIO FILE:

I am the Hollow

Poetry

wordbowl

My flesh is a bowl
— words dripping
from the brim.

I am the place
where words breathe,
beat as a pumping heart.

I am a cavern —
empty, and full of
echoes and bodies,

spilling out words.
They cry in pain,
dance in celebration.

I am where words go
— to mingle, and to flirt
— to kiss, and to fuck.

I am the hollow,
and I am the spoon,
dipping out language.

I am white linen —
a bed dampened
by the sweat of ink.

I am the cup —
words — the elixir,
the heat and the cool,

from which a soul sips
reason or rhyme–
sometimes both.

I am the sanctuary
where verses pray,
incantations rising.

I watch them slip through
cracked, stained glass
— a poem taking wing.

———-

AUDIO FILE:

True Red — After Flyleaf, All Around Me (a golden shovel poem)

Poetry
lipstick
I have the writer’s luxury of words (my 
body is a thesaurus) and my tongue 
drips with vocabulary like a child dances 
— with complete abandon. No hiding behind 
the expectations in my imagination. My 
poet’s fingers paint love upon these lips 
before I speak. I promise will ever search for 
the perfect shade, and always be kissing you.
———-

POETIC FORM:

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

—–

 

POEM A DAY NOVEMBER 2015 – PROMPT:

For today’s prompt, write a luxury poem.
—–
AUDIO FILE:

Sick

Poetry

wolfmirror

There’s something in
the look you give.
There’s a taste
of fear — something’s
just about to break.

I’m the girl you’ve been
thinking about, I am
still here and you’re still
there; baby can you feel me?

I will take your breath away
as I look into your eyes.
I know just what that means
— now the dark begins.

To rise, arms wide open,
I will shut the world away,
save your breath –it’s far
from over. I’m never
gonna leave you,

So, how can this be —
you’re praying to me?
No mercy from the edge
of the blade, you’re beautiful!

As you tear me to pieces,
it feels better, biting down.
Is it sick of me to feed
the animal in you?
It’s dark in my imagination.

Now that you’re hooked,
it’s all becoming clear.
Don’t make a sound.
Are you sick, like me?

———-

POETIC FORM: ADAPTED GOLDEN SHOVEL

golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.

This poem was compiled from a playlist, shared with me by my Wolf before our first impact play session. I did not follow the strict rules for a golden shovel poem as described above, but each line is culled from the lyrics of the songs in the playlist, with nothing extra added.

The playlist is as follows:

1 – Hail to the King – Avenged Sevenfold
2 – I Will Not Bow – Breaking Benjamin
3 – The Diary of Jane – Breaking Benjamin
4 – Dark in My Imagination – of Verona
5 – Wrong Side of Heaven – Five Finger Death Punch
6 – Ropes That Way – Dirty Ghosts
7 – Biting Down – Lorde
8 – Whore – In This Moment
9 – Sick Like Me – In This Moment
10 – Feel Me – Mecca Kalani

Burned Upon Her Skin

Memoir, Poetry

writing

I wrote a poem a few weeks ago, about my girlfriend, and her love of the woods. She and I have been enjoying this brief Autumn season, and escaping to the nearby hiking trails as often as the weather and our schedules allow — sometimes together, sometimes separately, chasing light and shadows, solitude and mental health. I posted more recently about how that is affecting my personal journey, in a post titled “The Way of Beauty”.

I’ve been sharing poetry with this amazing woman since we started dating, two months ago. I’ve introduced her to my favorites, like Tyler Knott Gregson, Billy Collins, and Rives. She seems to love my addiction to language, and to not mind that I write poetry about my love for her.

In fact, a little over a week ago, she was planning a trip home to visit family (and her tattoo artist) and asked me how I felt about her incorporating some of my poetry into a tattoo. My immediate response was, “Of course! Once I share my poems, they belong to whoever reads them!”  She didn’t tell me which poem; she wanted to keep that a surprise, so no photos or hints until I picked her up from the airport on Sunday.

She’d been gone for four days, and when I met her in the waiting area just outside the terminal, I was breathless, struck by how amazing she looked in my favorite black shirt and some new plaid suspenders. I couldn’t stop  hugging and kissing her — and more than once I caught random strangers smiling at us.

I didn’t see the tattoo on her arm until she was loading her suitcase into my car, and though I expected to love it, I didn’t anticipate the feelings that washed over me. My throat constricted on the word, “Oh!” and my eyes welled up with tears. My words, spilled for her from my own pen, were etched into her beautiful skin, so she could see them for the rest of her life. I couldn’t stop touching them, tracing the letters with my fingers. I’ve been lucky enough to have my work published before, but I don’t think I will ever feel the way I felt standing there, reading her arm.

wpid-2015-10-26-12.41.29.png.png

The fantastic thing, is that the words are hers. They belong to her — belong on her body. They fit, and always will. That’s what happens when we send our words out into the world. Those who read them make them their own, bring them to life. They are made richer, deeper, and more breathtaking. It’s a thing that always amazes me about writing poetry. What a wild, wonderful privilege it is to witness!

 

The poem in its entirety, is posted below. I hope you find something in it, gentle reader, that speaks to you, and as always, I thank you for doing your part, reading my words, and making them live.

———-

wolvesrunning

THE WOODS ARE WHERE YOU’VE BEEN

The scent of wind is burned upon your skin —
You’ve run with wolves, while howling at the night,
and I can tell the woods are where you’ve been.

I know the weight of life has worn you thin —
Within your eyes a hunger burns so bright,
The scent of wind is burned upon your skin.

I hear the echoes of your howls again —
I hope that you’ve been strengthened by your flight.
and I can tell the woods are where you’ve been.

You look at me, and my head starts to spin —
I find my thoughts are rude and impolite!
The scent of wind is burned upon your skin.

I can’t control this flood I’m holding in —
I ache to break for you, to scream and fight,
and I can tell the woods are where you’ve been.

The smell of you turns all my flesh to sin —
till every touch becomes a sacred rite,
The scent of wind is burned upon your skin,
and I can tell the woods are where you’ve been.

———-

POETIC FORM:

The villanelle is a French form, consisting of five tercets and a quatrain with line lengths of 8-10 syllables. The first and third lines of the first stanza become refrains that repeat throughout the poem.

FORM DIAGRAM:

A(1)
b
A(2)
a
b
A(1)
a
b
A(2)
a
b
A(1)
a
b
A(2)
a
b
A(1)
A(2)